Trump’s victory at the polls coupled with the Republican’s controlling both the house and the senate has me, like so so many of us, reeling. I am angry. I am scared for the safety of myself and all those I love, especially my friends of color, LGBTQ friends, and Muslim friends. These people are not token aquantainces in my life. They are people I regularly rely on for advice and support. I am scared for myself, a white, cis, straight women, for the reasons all women out there are afraid. Will I be able to get birth control? It may very well no longer be covered by insurance (or only for women who are married as it used to be), it may become outrageously expensive, it may be banned in some places or restricted to the point that it is banned for many women. Maybe we will return to the days of forced sterilization. Will I be groped or assaulted? Like every woman in America, I...

I have so many mixed feelings about eating alone these days. When I was younger, willingness to eat alone or see movies alone or go to a bar alone felt like a badass badge of honor. And I collected those. But now that I’m separated, eating alone feels sad. It’s a poignant reminder that I was left. This wasn’t my choice. Because, you see, I love eating out. I love being served a meal. I am respectful and I tip well, but there is something delicious about eating in a restaurant. And I don’t mean high falutin’ fancy restaurants. Diners are just fine by me. Or the Chinese restaurant and take out place I’m at now. There are so many troupes about eating alone. I used to entertain myself when eating or drinking alone — journaling, reading … Or, you know, writing this blog post. But I find myself just wanting to sit and take everything in. It...

Dear my amazing friends of color, I’m sorry for my social media silence. I have been pretty vocal in person but that is not enough. I am horrified. I want to apologize to every person of color, especially black man, I see. I close my eyes and all I can see is Philando Castile bleeding to death in his car with a gun pointed at him and hear his stepdaughter crying and sirens – but apparently not fucking ambulance sirens – in the background. I am so sorry. What else can I say? Everything feels empty. I vote. I notice and get angry when 90% of the people I see pulled over are not white. I wrestle with the small parts I can imagine of living in fear that your partner, son, father will be killed for fucking being alive. But it isn’t enough. It will never be enough. Especially when I feel myself pulling away from a black man asking me for money on the street. I am...

My crazy black pug Maverick turned 12 this January. About a year and a half ago, he had a Stage 1 tumor removed from his chest. Afterwards, he refused to eat or drink. We thought he might have pancreatitis and went through months of trying to find food that wouldn’t make him vomit. He was slowing down, but he got better and was mostly back to his crazy self. I got Mav when he was 9 weeks old and I was almost 21. He is my baby. I had him in my first adult apartment, my first adult job, and when I met my husband. We have a connection. I can tell when he doesn’t feel well, even when my husband thinks I’m crazy. I noticed that he seemed to be walking kind of funny. His back legs kind of flailed about. Then the accidental, occasional poop would happen. I convinced my husband to take him to the vet, who confirmed that something was wrong and sent us to an orthopedic specialist. The...

At 31, I may be learning patience. 31 years is a long time to live feeling constantly on edge, ready to move, terrified of falling …. I have a brain injury. My brain is injured. Traumatically. I have a traumatic brain injury. It sounds too intense and severe and yet ‘concussion’ sounds like something that you get over in a week like the flu. Neither really captures the subtle things. The instant fight or flight response at any sign of stress. The weird head tingling that a book says is a type of headache. The inability to remember little things – words, what I was saying, where the fuck I put my purple hoodie coat from Brooklyn Industries. I’ve even misplaced my book ON concussions. Oh irony … you saucy minx. All the books … well the ones written by people who have actually studied mild traumatic brain inuries say the same thing: rest, do what...